Want him, want him, want him

I refuse to get rid of it.

Not him.
The feeling.
The craving.

I remember exactly how I felt when I saw him.
When the fantasy came to life.
I remember what I was wearing
the first time I said the words:
“I want him.”

Want him, want him, want him.

The first moment our eyes met, and
my heart went, “Oh shit.”

It’s buried inside my consciousness,
seared like a mark on cattle.

The textbook answer is:
I’m fine, and it’s fine.
You can’t make someone love you.

I know.

I never said I could.

Want him, want him, want him.